


The Influence of Wine

by Lilbluebox



Series: Good Omens Discord Prompts [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Historical, Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol, drunk almost-confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 04:36:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20522048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilbluebox/pseuds/Lilbluebox
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale celebrate the end of World War II with extraordinary amounts of alcohol.





	The Influence of Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: drunk rambling

“- years, angel. MI6’s such a - an’ I know I screwed it up, but that was before all -” Crowley’s hand waves in the air, slopping wine over the edge of his glass. “This. ‘S not my fault.”

“Thought it was?”

“Yeah, but not. Angel. That was before the humans got all… humany. Wars ‘n stuff.”

Aziraphale nods as if this makes perfect sense, then frowns blearily at his companion. “Humans’re always having wars,” he protests. “Surely you must’ve - must’ve -” 

“Well, yeah, but that’s Home Office.” Crowley loses the fight against being upright and falls over onto the couch. He wonders, briefly, where his glasses have gone; they’re lost. Somewhere. Not his pocket, he realizes when he checks it, distracted. Properly lost then. Oh well. 

His wine, miraculously, doesn’t spill. “Thanks,” he says, then continues with, “they’re all - y’know what they’re like. Had’ta do the thing. Could’a been worse, ‘Ziraphale, could’a - y’know. Worse. It’s like when you do something, and it’s s’pposed to be one thing, and then it’s an - anoth - something else.”

Aziraphale makes an agreeing noise in the back of his throat, then hides behind his wine glass. “Feet,” he mumbles. 

“Feet?”

“Your feet. You hopped in on cons - holy ground, Crowley. Can’t just - demons can’t just do that, ‘s why I wouldn’t -”

Crowley groans and buries his face in a couch cushion. It’s not like he really has to breathe anyway. “Shut up.”

“No.” Bless it, he sounds serious. Crowley reluctantly peels himself up from the couch to see a very determined angel looking at some spot off in the bookshop somewhere. “Your _feet_, Crowley.”

“Yeah, got two of ‘em still.” Then Crowley blinks and double checks. Yep. Still two feet. Two hands too, come to think of it. Useful for that wine glass he’s somehow not dropped yet.

Aziraphale just looks annoyed. “It’s not the point,” he insists. “The point - the point is. Is.”

“Isss?”

“For me,” Aziraphale enunciates clearly, eyes fixed on Crowley’s golden ones, and then loses any semblance of enunciation thereafter. “Did all that for me. The books. Even after - ev’thing.”

“Wasn’t gonna just let you not be here,” Crowley grumbles. “I -”

But he’s not quite drunk enough to say it. He can’t be. 

“I,” Aziraphale repeats, soft and haloed in fuzzy light. “Yes. I. I can’t, Crowley, I couldn’t - even if it’s not what y’want, acc - miss - those things. Things you don’t mean to do? They happen.”

“Angel -”

“I can’t lose you, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers as he sinks further back into his armchair. “I can’t. Don’t ask me.”

Choked, Crowley finally drops the stupid wine glass and shoves himself awkwardly to his feet, swaying even more than usual as he stumbles the handful of steps it takes to get to Aziraphale’s chair. He’s still drunk for this - he doesn’t want to be, but he has to be, because you can get away with things drunk that you never could sober - still drunk for when he cups Aziraphale’s face in his hands and lets his forehead drop against his angel’s. 

“Never,” Crowley swears, unblinking. Aziraphale makes a little pained, yearning noise and his fingers slowly wrap around Crowley’s wrists. “Never gonna lose me, Aziraphale. Ever.”


End file.
